


Life From the Dead

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: Following the events ofWeekend at Gabriel's, Dean and Cas make up, Sam mans up, Ruby shows up, Balthazzar blows up, and everyone grows up.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: We Three Kings [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306616
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

_For if their rejection brought reconciliation to the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead?--Romans 11:14-16_

  
  
Sam had always felt things faster than Dean had.  
  
Sometimes, when Dean couldn’t sleep, he wondered if that was how he was made, or if he’d adapted in order to provide for Sam’s immediate, intense reactions to hardships. He wondered, if John had mastered his demons, if it would be him relying heavily on his normal, well-adjusted brother, and Sam would calmly and logically walk him through his initial reactions.  
  
But most of the time, Dean didn’t question. It was damn convenient, in his opinion, not to feel the weight of a situation in the moment. When everyone else was attended to, that’s when he allowed himself his own breakdowns. Throughout Dean’s life, having the _time_ to break down was a luxury in itself.  
  
So when Cas informed him he was going away for the weekend, it was Sam who looked like he’d just been dumped, and Dean had to take care of that look. Throughout their time alone, he honestly didn’t feel Cas’ absence: his damn doctor had vanished for nights and double-shifts often enough that a weekend without him didn’t feel like much of anything.  
  
It wasn’t until Sam was out of the car and loping toward the bookstore and Dean was guiding the Impala back home to Cas that his stomach suddenly lurched with such anxiety and fear that he very nearly had to pull over. The jig was up: Sam was sane and calm and safe at work. Cas was back, as mysteriously as he’d left. And there was nowhere to go but home to him, and no overgrown brother to cower behind.  
  
Love, sang Alice Cooper, is a loaded gun. And Cas had opened fire.

***

  
“Morning!” Ava chirped. Ava does not speak: she chirps, squacks, caws, and, on occasion, squees. At least, that’s how Andy described her. He said the sound of her voice made his eardrums hum, like a dog that could hear frequencies unknown to humans.  
  
Sam thought she was sweet enough. She’d given him his job back after he’d crawled out of Rosemount. And told him she’d try and get him a raise in the next few months.  
  
“Hey, Ava. Happy Monday.”  
  
“I had the _best_ weekend, Sam! We went to a fair and Brady won me a _huge_ teddy bear and then bought us funnel cake. And halfway through it I started coughing and choking and ended up on the ground and he had to pick me up and give me the Heimlich and I puked and then landed in it and then found _this_!” She thrust her hand into his face revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “He’d laced it onto the end of the cake! Isn’t that _adorable_!”  
  
Sam had thought Becky was too much. He smiled politely. “Congratulations.”  
  
“Thanks! By the way—some blonde girl was around this weekend, asking for you. She said she’d swing by this morning. Can you work the information desk? We’ve had like, fifty people coming by asking why the books aren’t free to download electronically.”  
  
“Joy,” Sam smiled.  
  
“Yeah. I had Max working it but he kinda lost it.”  
  
“Did the girl leave her name?”  
  
“No. But she said you were a good friend. Actually, she said something kinda super uber creepy weird. She said you had a...common paternity.”  
  
Sam stomach suddenly felt tighter. His heart sped up. He remembered Cas’ breathing tricks and kept himself steady. “That’s...weird.”  
  
“Right? Look, she gives you trouble you let me know. Okay?”  
  
“Sure. Thanks, Ava.”  
  
The store was a chain, but this branch billed itself as a “Superstore” branch. Information was in the center, and functioned as a help desk for the electronic readers and a librarian station for looking up and ordering inventory. Sam really enjoyed working Information. He often got into long discussions with the customers, recommending books and authors to one another, and he personally enjoyed solving the tech issues of the little electronic readers. He far preferred it to working the registers, which often had long lines on weekends and frequently tested his stupidly shoddy nerves.  
  
Sam had thrived on pressure. For years. He’d enjoyed the thrill of an academic or physical challenge—the worthy opponent he’d easily conquered. But recovery had weakened him. He was building back to his normal self, but then some stupid thing like a line on a Saturday would increase his heart rate, and he’d feel miles away from the old Sam, who could load his academic schedule to the brink and not need to rest, or go to group, or call his big brother to make sure Dean hadn’t been hit by a semi on his way to the garage and Cas hadn’t caught Ebola making his usual rounds.  
  
The store opened at 9:30. Sam had just booted up the computer and was putting in a few special orders that had come in by e-mail when Ruby arrived, looking sweaty, pale, and downright _pissed_.  
  
“Sam,” she said.  
  
“Hey.” He smiled. She didn’t reciprocate. “Were you looking for me this weekend?”  
  
“I’ve been looking for you since Thursday night.”  
  
That horrid unease was back. “You okay?”  
  
“No. No, I’m not. We need to have a talk. A nice. Long. Talk.”  
  
“Well...I’m working. Can this wait until—”  
  
“I know it was Dean, Sam.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“I know what your brother did to Fitzgerald McCloud.”  
  
Sam balked. Tried to cover. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Yes you do. So we can do this here, in front of customers who could potentially serve as witnesses, or in private.”  
  
Sam felt a lick of rage. If Dean felt Crowley didn’t get to slither around with his life in his back pocket, than Ruby didn’t get to march around with Dean’s life in hers.  
  
“Come with me,” he said.

***

  
“I’m back!” Dean bellowed. Cas smiled, hearing his partner’s enthusiastic pounding on their stairs. He’d long ago given up trying to get Dean to take them one at a time, and at a decent human speed.  
  
Cas had finished unpacking his duffel, showered, and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans while Dean had run Sam to work. Cas had offered to, but when Dean waved him off, he’d managed to pull the young man aside and thank him for his message.  
  
“Please don’t allow things to change. I’m the one who was in the wrong.”  
  
“No. If you and Dean get to share my mess, we share yours,” Sam had said, and smiled, shyly. “It’s good to see you, Cas.”  
  
“You too, Sam.” He’d reached out and squeezed the younger man’s elbow. “Very good.”  
  
Dean appeared in the doorway in his gray tee, jeans with the small hole above the right knee, and the ever-present necklace. “You didn’t wear a jacket?” Cas asked.  
  
Dean snorted. “Dude, if anyone should be worried about bringing infectious diseases into this house, it’s you.”  
  
Normally, they’d laugh at this. But with the alienation of the past few days, the attempted humor sank them both. Cas sighed and made his way around the bed.  
  
“We need to talk, Dean.”  
  
“I know,” Dean snapped. Then softened his tone. “I know.” He crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the mattress. Cas joined him. “I want to make this clear: I’m not sorry for what I did. But I _am_ sorry I didn’t talk it over with you.”  
  
“You were right.”  
  
Dean frowned. “Come again?”  
  
“Gabriel helped me understand a few things. About...my own emotional deficiencies.”  
  
“Cas, don’t—”  
  
“Hear me out.” Cas stared at the floor. “I was raised to believe the system could be trusted, because it always worked for my family. I realize now I wasn’t taking the enormous amount of privilege and influence that comes with my last name into account. I thought I’d seen past that.”  
  
“It was a lot to have thrown at you.”  
  
“It doesn’t excuse me leaving as I did. I know...abandonment is a tremendous fear we both share.”  
  
Dean’s breath hitched a bit. “If I’d explained myself better, maybe this could have been avoided. I know...I can get defensive. Of Sam. Sometimes I...lose sight of everything else. Every _one_ else.”  
  
Cas reached nervously over and lay his fingers on Dean’s thigh. When he didn’t pull away, he chanced resting his whole palm. “I’ve been pulled so deep into work I’ve lost sight of myself many times. I realized...with Gabe, as close as we can be...without you and Sam, a large part of myself ceases to exist. I become something of an...automatan.”  
  
“Man,” Dean snorted, “you are _such_ a geek.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Most of us plebs would say robot. You go with ‘automaton.’”  
  
“Would you prefer avatar?”  
  
“If I come home and you’re decked out in blue and white face paint...that’s it. That’s a kink I’m not willing to try explore.”  
  
“Oh?” Cas raised his hand and, a little shyly, ran it along Dean’s ear. Dean closed his eyes and shivered ever so slightly. “So...while we’re unknotting this particular kink in our relationship, are there, perhaps, others we should…’evaluate’?”  
  
He may be shy, but Dean certainly wasn’t. The next thing Cas knew he was half-tossed backward onto the bed, Dean over him, pinning his hands over his head.  
  
“I know a few of yours,” Dean murmured, and ducked out of Cas’ vision to scrape his teeth along the side of his throat, causing Cas to let out his usual mortifying, girliegiggle. “And because of your labcoat, I never have to worry about hickies.”  
  
“Don’t you have—” another, mortifying laugh as Dean’s teeth scraped lower. “Work?”  
  
“Switched my shift from two to ten. And I checked your blackberry: you’re not on until three. And if you were _really_ worried, you wouldn’t have worn that white shirt before you’d dried off, and you know it.”  
  
Cas felt himself blush—Dean was the first person to ever bring that out of him, and he knew, for a fact, that it was one of Dean’s turn-ons. Same with Cas’ still damp hair. And yes: white t-shirts.  
  
“Maybe I know you better than I thought,” he said, as Dean eased up with the teeth and used his lips along his throat. “Maybe...I missed you. A lot.”  
  
Dean kissed under Cas’ chin, his cheek, his forehead, and then pulled back to bore into him with those dark green eyes. “Dude. You ever take off like that again...”  
  
“I’ll need you to find me.” Dean tilted his head slightly. “I’ll need you to remind me where I belong.”  
  
“Well,” Dean huffed, “there’s an upside to it.”  
  
“And that would be?”  
  
Dean’s eyes glittered. “Now I get to win you back.”

***

  
“I don’t think you understand what your brother did, Sam,” Ruby snapped, pacing the back office. “McCloud...or, as we called him, _Crowley_ , sustained us. _Many_ of us. And you, with your stupid little dependencies and your desperate attempts to justify them, don’t get to moralize.”  
  
Sam too her in symptoms: sweat, shakes, palor, and knew them all too well. “You’re still using,” he said.  
  
“I never _stopped_ ,” Ruby snapped. “I was under court-order to go to jail or treatment, and I chose treatment. And _Crowley_ , as you called him, was the only person who understood. Who came to sit in on groups and attend my family therapy sessions. Who brought me what I _needed._ ”  
  
“Ruby, he _used_ us.”  
  
“ _No_ , Sam. He used _you_. Me? He gave me a chance. To build a life of my own. To build trust among those who mattered. To have a bank account full of money and a home with heat and hot water. And you and that dumbass brother of yours decided it wasn’t good enough.”  
  
“You need help,” Sam said softly. Ruby shivered. “You’re not thinking straight. Ruby, I remember. You were a good friend to Lily. You came by and visited when I was on bed rest. You have to know this isn’t where you want to be.”  
  
“This is _my_ family, Sam.”  
  
“No, they’re not.”  
  
“Spare me the come-to-Jesus talk. I’m not the only one who’s sick right now. There’s dozens of us, and it’s on _you_.”  
  
“Let me take you to Rosemount. I’ll talk to Alan for you.”  
  
“I don’t _want_ to get better, Sam! This _is_ better for me! I’m not stuck in that house with the stepfather who raped me and the mother who _let_ him! I have my own home where the lights don’t go out and the hot water is always there and I don’t have to hunt for change on the street. I have a damn _cat_.”  
  
Her voice hitched. Sam tried to touch her arm but she yanked away. “No! No one else gets to tell me what the ‘right’ way is. This is what works for me. And I’m gonna get Fitzgerald off the hook. And we’ll make sure your brother pays.”  
  
“I’m not gonna let you hurt my family, Ruby.”  
  
“Who said anything about _them_?” Ruby gave a cocky grin, even as a bead of sweat rolled down from her temple. “If I were you...I’d watch your salt shakers. Never know when something else might be in them.”  
  
Sam felt heat fill his face. “You sold to them?”  
  
“Please. Halfway houses are gold mines.” She glared. “You enjoy riding that high horse while you can. Because it’s not gonna last. There’s no getting out. It’s a matter of time before you go down again. And when you do, don’t come knocking at my door for your fix.”  
  
She tossed her hair and took off. Sam could see her shaking was getting worse, and her hands were twitching with early spasms. If she didn’t get what she needed soon, she’d be flat on her back, in terrible pain, and too weak to help herself. He couldn’t bring himself to hate her, even now—having gone through two weeks of withdrawal and its after-effects, he didn’t have it in him to hate anyone who had to face it.  
But he’d go to hell before he’d let her hurt Dean. Even if it meant publically announcing his degradation at the hands of Crowley. He’d live the humiliation. He would _not_ live with his brother behind bars.  
  
He wouldn’t live, at all, without Dean.

***

  
Sam didn’t have it in him to eat lunch, but he bought a sandwich anyway, because he knew Dean would ask about what he ate and he’d promised to stop lying. It was easier to choke down a sandwich than listen to his brother’s lectures on the importance of eating. When Dean got going, not even Cas’ placating could reel him back in.  
  
Like clockwork, Sam finished his sandwich, and Sam’s cell rang with “Dean” on the caller ID. He smiled. If there was anything he loved about recovery, it was that he no longer dreaded his brother’s check-ins.  
  
“Hey,” he said.  
  
“Hey. You eat?”  
  
“Turkey on wheat.”  
  
“With mayo?”  
  
“Tomato.”  
  
“It’s too dry.”  
  
“It’s _my_ lunch, Dean.”  
  
“Whatever. Hold on. I’m supposed to conference in Cas.” Dean promptly hung up on him. Sam clicked “end,” chuckling to himself. Dean was no idiot. Sam had known his brother was amazingly gifted ever since he was six and his Game Boy died. Dean had taken the machine down to pieces and used a sewing needle to rewire parts of it. Since then, Sam had seen him work magic on electrical sockets, televisions, pipes, fans, heaters, air conditioners, and of course, everything and anything the automotive industry produced. One of his fondest memories of Dean was his brother breaking into a neighbor’s and returning home with their fax machine while Sam raced to meet his college application deadlines and their computer froze. Dean deconstructed the fax machine, opened up the belly of the PC, and the next thing Sam knew, his applications were merrily printing away to the song of the fax. Dean even returned the machine to its rightful place before dawn.  
  
But Dean’s genius stopped just short of actually _using_ what he repaired—things like cell phones, e-mail attachments, copy machines, and digital cable were utterly beyond him. Sure, he could take apart the remote and replace a broken circuit with a paperclip, but he couldn’t use the search menu to find COPS.  
  
The phone rang again. “Hey,” Sam said.  
  
“Sonofabitch,” Dean grumbled. “Okay, hang on.” Sam heard the obnoxiously loud sound of buttons being hit, and then the background noise of the garage. “Dean...you put me on speaker.”  
  
“Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
“No, Dean, it’s me! I’m on speaker!”  
  
“Well get off, I’m trying to dial him in!”  
  
“ _You_ put me on.”  
  
“I did not. Hold on—” Dean hung up on him again.  
  
The next time his phone rang, it was Cas on the caller ID.  
  
“Hello, Sam. I told him to let me do it,” Cas greeted him. “Hold on, let me dial him.”  
  
Sam’s phone beeped. He glanced at the screen. “Cas, he’s on my other line.”  
  
“He called me a rather filthy name when I told him I should take care of it,” he said. Sam could hear his smile. “Would you please tell him to hang up and wait for my call?”  
  
“Sure thing.” Sam switched over. “Dean, I’m on the other line with Cas. He said—”  
  
“I can patch him in!” Dean barked. “Just because I’m not one of you college kids doesn’t mean I’m a moron. Hold on.”  
  
“Dean, it won’t work. I’m on the other line with him.”  
  
“Well then, hang up!”  
  
“Hold on.” Sam switched back to Cas. “He wants you to hang up.”  
  
“Of course he does. He’s calling me now. Hold on...I’ll conference him in. Don’t tell him.”  
  
Dean’s swearing had escalated. “Cas? Hang up with Sam!”  
  
“We’re here, Dean. You did it.”  
  
“Cas?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
“Cas!”  
  
“Dean, I’m on the line.”  
  
“Someone say something!”  
  
“Dean, Cas and I are both on the line!” Sam called.  
  
“Godamnit, I told you to hang up—no it’s not a customer—this is what happens when you don’t think I can do something!”  
  
“He put us on mute,” Cas chuckled to Sam. Dean swore again and hung up. “Hold on. I’ll dial him.”  
  
“Is everything alright? I mean...this isn’t the ‘we’re getting a divorce talk,’ is it?”  
  
“No, no, Sam, please don’t worry. Everything’s fine. Dean and I are both working tonight, and given the stress of the past few days, we thought it would be good for the three of us to check-in, that’s all.” Sam heard the sound of buttons being hit. “You can always call us if you need to, of course.”  
  
“You’re gonna stay?”  
  
“Yes. I’m sorry I left. I regret it now. I won’t do it again. Not like that.”  
  
Dean arrived on the line, still swearing. “—then I’m gonna pull out its little intestines and—Cas! Call Sam!”  
  
“I’m here, Dean.”  
  
“Well it’s about friggin’ time you two got it together. Sam, we’re having Bobby and Ellen over for dinner tomorrow and we want you there.”  
  
“You can bring Andy if you’d like,” Cas supplied. “I’ll be making my chicken marsala.”  
  
“The hell you will. You told me you’d fry it!”  
  
“Sam likes it marsala style. So do Ellen and I.”  
  
“Well, Andy and Bobby and I like fried things. And since we three could take _you_ three, we get to fry it.”  
  
“Cas, how about chicken parm? We all like that. If you call Alan and Missouri, I can skip group and help you cook it,” Sam said.  
  
“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Sam. Ellen said she’d bring dessert.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the big bad brother and boyfriend. Whatever. Sammy, you having a good day?”  
  
“Sure.” Sam’s stomach rolled. He wanted, badly, to tell Dean about Ruby, to hear his reassurance. But hearing Dean and Cas teasing one another, he could _feel_ their renewed affection, and the happiness it brought them both. When they’d first met Cas, he clearly mistook their banter for fighting, and frequently attempted to intervene. Now that he knew more about Cas’ background, it was clear how little, if _any_ affection was ever shown, and there was no such thing as playful banter: only arguing.  
  
It made Sam sad just to think of. Dean had never left Sam wanting for affection. His brother wasn’t a cuddler or hugger or one to say “I love you,” but he never denied his brother when Sam felt compelled to grab on to him, and, when he really needed it, Dean was always willing to drop his own inhibitions and hold him, or ruffle his hair, or let Sam lean on his shoulder. He’d always made it clear that Sam’s job was to be Sam, and Dean’s job was to protect that Sam.  
  
Sam had assumed that Cas’ big brothers had been the same. Although the thought of four Deans was more than a little overwhelming, he couldn’t imagine Cas had ever wanted for affection, or protection, or guidance and acceptance.  
  
It’d been a wakeup call to see otherwise. And it made Sam see what Dean must have seen in those early days: a vulnerable, emotionally repressed man who wanted to belong to a peaceful home as much as they did.  
  
“What are you on?” Dean’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.  
  
“Nothing! Dean, just my usual—the valium at night, and Effexor in the morning, and—”  
  
“He means at work, Sam,” Cas soothed. “He means, are you working the register today? Inventory? Information?”  
  
Sam felt heat in his face. “Oh. Right. Right, sure. Information. I’m at the information desk.”  
  
A long time ago, Sam wouldn’t have questioned what they meant. He wouldn’t have stuttered and repeated himself. A long time ago, Sam was going to go to law school. He had a girlfriend who left him sweet notes and made cookies and made him take breaks when he stretched himself to exhaustion. He wouldn’t have touched drugs or drank too much or forced Dean and Cas to wake up and check their smoke alarms, their heart rates, their door locks.  
  
“That’s your favorite.” Dean’s voice was gentle, reassuring. The dialect of ‘Sam’s sick/hurt/scared/nervous.’  
  
“Yeah. It’s good. Ava...Ava got engaged.”  
  
“Oh, Christ. I am _so_ not your plus one to that.”  
  
“I’m kind of hoping she won’t invite me.”  
  
“Have Chuck and Becky officially announced?” Cas asked.  
  
“Dude, you think they would and we wouldn’t of heard Becky’s air-rade siren?” Dean asked.  
  
“I suppose not.”  
  
“Are you two alright?” Sam interrupted.  
  
“Of course,” Cas said, at the same time Dean said “we’re good.”  
  
“I’m on until ten tonight, Sammy,” Dean explained. “But if you need me after group you call, okay?”  
  
“And I’ll be on rounds until at least midnight, but if you need to, please call,” Cas assured him.  
  
“You know...I’m here for you two. Too,” Sam said.  
  
“I know—”  
  
“Of course—”  
  
“We’re a team, not just—”  
  
“We rely on you too, so—”  
  
Sam smiled as Dean and Cas stumbled over one another. “Okay. So, we’re all good?”  
  
“We’re damn fine,” Dean declared. Then swore. “I’m on the—not with—yeah, well, I don’t take lunch, so—damnit! The bald asshat is making me go! Cas, sign me off—yeah, I mean _you_ , Jay! Cas! Log me off!”  
  
“Just hang up,” Cas said.  
  
“If there’s a bill for this three-way, you’re paying,” Dean snapped. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he roared, and then the phone clicked off. Sam couldn’t stop his laughter.  
  
“You _sure_ you want to grow old with him, Cas? He’s in his prime now. Imagine how he’ll be at eighty.”  
  
“From what I understand, many elder communities allow spouses to live on separate floors.” Sam could _feel_ his smile. “Sam. I...your message meant a great deal to me. I wanted to come home already. But...Gabriel, and you, convinced me I was right in doing so.”  
  
Sam thinks of Ruby’s threat and his stomach drops. “Cas...I know I’m a mess. I know I’ve hurt you. I know I—”  
  
“If I could go back in time, I’d be with Dean in that alley,” his breath hitched. “Sam. You’re a brother to me. I won’t leave you and Dean again. I mean it. I’ve told him, I’m telling you. Forgive me.”  
  
Sam’s throat was too swollen with feeling to speak. He took a few deep breaths, swallowed hard, and nodded, even if Cas couldn’t see. “S’okay,” he murmured. “S’okay, Cas. I really—”  
  
“I’m here with you and Dean now. For good. I won’t leave him. Or you.”  
  
Sam had sworn he wouldn’t lie again. But, hearing Cas and Dean’s joyful reassurances, he just didn’t have the heart to bring in Ruby. To bring in Crowley. To bring in all his own insanity. They’d given him all he needed to be strong. And he had been, damnit. Once upon a time. He wasn’t going to let them lose one another—or themselves—anymore.  
  
“We missed you,” he said. And left it at that.

***

  
Cas hung up with the Winchester brothers feeling a distinctive unease. He wasn’t sure why—he no longer doubted his relationship with Dean. He’d reaffirmed his brotherhood with Sam. He’d felt a peace, and security, that he hadn’t felt since the night he’d taken Dean for burgers.  
  
He was passing by the nurse’s station when he remembered there was a world outside their little co-dependent trinity.  
  
“I don’t _care_ what you _thought_ , I care what you _did_ , and it _wasn’t_ what I ordered!” Balthazzar barked at a nurse who looked ready to take a swing at him.  
  
“That _is_ what you ordered, doctor. I can show you the request.”  
  
“You think I would make a mistake like this?”  
  
“Given that you haven’t slept in seventy-two hours? Yes.”  
  
“You—you probably went to night-school. You probably have an associate’s degree from an online university. I went to Oxford. I went to Cambridge. I interned at Harvard University Medical Center, and—”  
  
“And we are so grateful for your patience,” Cas said quickly, pulling Peter away from the desk. The nurse was fully ready to launch into a tirade as Cas wrestled his friend away. “We understand the unreasonable attitude that comes with sleep deprivation.”  
  
“You just get him the hell away from my station,” she hissed.  
  
“I will. I’m very sorry,” Cas wasn’t the strongest of the strong, but he managed to wrestle Peter into an empty room and shut the door. “This isn’t like you.”  
  
“Where the hell have you been?” Balthazzar snapped. “You were supposed to work the weekend.”  
  
“I had a...family emergency.”  
  
“Sam off the wagon, is he?”  
  
“Don’t talk about Sam.” Cas hadn’t meant it to sound like it did, but once it was out, he couldn’t regret it. He’d had enough of people targeting his family’s weaknesses.  
  
“Well, whatever drama you had dealt, perhaps you forgot my friend was in hospital? And perhaps, missed the news stories on his extracurricular activities?”  
  
Cas looked away. “I saw them.”  
  
“Right. And you, at no point, thought you should reach out to me.”  
  
“Peter—”  
  
“No, no, it was no big deal. I only learned one of my good friends was, in fact, a thief, fraud, dealer, and conman, and chose to confide such information in you. It’s not like I’d hope you’d be a sounding board or anything. God forbid I interrupt your weekend.”  
  
“You could have called me.”  
  
“ _You_ could have called _me._ ”  
  
Cas’ heart sank. “It’s...complicated. But I’m here now. I am—”  
  
“You know, I understand your social limitations. I do. But I would think, as a doctor, even _you_ would understand this: it doesn’t matter if you’re there after the wound’s bled out. You’re needed the moment the blood starts gushing.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Of course you are.” Peter grabbed the door and yanked it open. “But you know what? Now I have to do something that I loathe. I have to search my soul and evaluate my relationships. And to be frank, _yours_ isn’t at the top of my list.”  
  
“Please...hear me out.”  
  
“Can you bring who did this to justice? Can you correct whatever deformity is in my character that I didn’t recognize I was drinking with a snake?”  
  
Cas had to break his friend’s gaze. “I’m...sorry. I had a difficult weekend. Dean—”  
  
“Yes, I know. Sam and Dean can’t zip up their flies or change their own diapers. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve sent the gift baskets, and I’ve covered your shifts. Maybe I made a mistake in thinking that made us a little more than colleagues.”  
  
“No. Peter—”  
  
“I’m going home. I need to sleep. Well, first I need to drink, and then I’m going to sleep. Do me a favor? Don’t match our schedules for awhile.”  
  
“Peter—”  
  
“Goodnight, Dr. Morgan.”  
  
Cas watched his friend disappear around the corner, and then walked to the nurse’s station. After all, he had rounds.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam liked to sit out on the front porch after group. It let him think in a small, peaceful space, and sitting out in the open air reminded him of the endless hours he and Dean had spent outside: watching the stars, the storms rolling in, the rain dripping off the roof. He could sit with Dean, for hours, and not have to say a thing. Just be close, resting, together, with a feeling of perfect safety, perfect understanding.  
  
He’d chosen this spot to call Dean and confess that he’d withheld his conversation with Ruby. Dean, being Dean, had scoffed and told him to quit worrying, that they were in the clear. But then he’d said:  
  
“You should have told me this afternoon, Sammy.”  
  
And Sam hated himself for it, but he just wanted Dean to be by his side while he spoke. He was determined to give him space, for Cas’ sake, but his wretched, ragged nerves had other ideas.  
  
“You—I—you and Cas. Were...things were—they were good. You’re happy again. You and him. And—I almost broke you up. For good. I told him—I told Cas I’d—I’d back off. Be—be out of the picture. But I don’t want to lie to you, Dean—”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_! What the _hell_ do you _mean,_ you told him you’d be out of the picture?”  
  
“I just...I’ve dumped too much on you both. You can’t have a relationship that revolves around me—”  
  
“Cas went along with this?”  
  
Sam felt heat in his face. “Well...no. No, he said things shouldn’t change. But, Dean—”  
  
“And we know from experience that every time you’ve sacrificed for me, you’ve been kicked in the jewels so hard you could’ve worn them like a necklace.”  
  
“Ew—that—that doesn’t even make _sense_!”  
  
“Shutup and listen to me, Sam.” Dean took a deep breath. “I’m no shrink, but you’re not up to par yet. You’ve been leaning on me more than you used to. But that’s what I’m here for. You carried me for years, you need to let me carry you now. It’ll be your turn again. But don’t you dare let anyone—Cas, Ash, Alan, Missouri—tell you you can’t come to me. It took us _way_ too long to get to where we are, bro. We are not having a backslide.”  
  
“You’ve given just as much— _more_ —for me!”  
  
“Yeah, and it’s a bad habit. You know it. Missouri made us both eat our own crow, remember?”  
  
“But...I want you to be _happy_ , Dean.”  
  
“I _am_ , Sammy.” Dean softened his voice. “I am. We’re fine. You ain’t heavy—you’re my brother.”  
  
Sam burst out laughing. “Asshole.”  
  
“Whatever. Don’t worry about that dumb bitch. I’m not going to prison. McCloud isn’t going to try to touch me, because he knows damn well you’ll be right behind, fully willing to testify, and that would damn him worse.”  
  
“I _would_ , Dean. I wouldn’t care what I had to tell them. I wouldn’t ever let you go to jail.”  
  
“I know,” Dean’s voice was warm, affectionate. Sam felt himself beaming, the dumb thing that always happened when he’d made his big brother proud. “Think I’d have gone out there without knowing my pain-in-the-ass-little-brother had my back?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well...yeah. But still. I know you did.”  
  
Sam chuckled. “Dean...thanks for buying me ice cream.”  
  
“I’ve been buying you ice cream since you were a year old.”  
  
“But...still. This weekend—”  
  
“Was nothing, you hear me? I had fun. I didn’t think about Cas. Don’t thank me.” Dean dropped his voice. “Don’t, bro. Don’t thank me for being around.” Sam’s throat was too swollen to speak after that. “It’s almost ten, bud. You need to hit the hay. Pop your glory pills and dream of the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”  
  
“Will you text me when Cas gets home safe?”  
  
“As long as you’re not awake to read it.”  
  
Sam grinned again. “Cas is going to pick me up from work and drive me to yours. Andy’s got the green light and will be at dinner on time.”  
  
“Good. Because when I get home, I like dinner on the table. I’m old fashioned.”  
  
“You’re not getting _near_ the table without a shower.”  
  
“I smell like peaches and roses, even when I’m rolling out from under the bellies of beasts.”  
  
“Good _night_ , Dean.”  
  
“Nighty night, babycakes.”  
  
Sam clicked “end” and sat smiling at the phone. Dean could be so damn... _Dean._  
  
The screen door swung open and Ash sauntered out. “Thought I smelled angst in these parts,” he said, and swung himself up on the porch railing, lighting a cigarette. “You’ve been quiet in group. You good, bro?”  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
“If you don’t vent, you’re gonna lose all that awesome hair before you’re ready.”  
  
Sam smiled. He thanked God Ash was the head in the halfway house. He was evangelical about recovery, and the physical, emotional, and psychological wellbeing of his lodgers. “Just...been thinking about relapse.”  
  
“Not an island I’d recommend visiting.” Ash blew a smoke ring.  
  
“It’s just...my Dad had big stretches of sobriety. He really worked at it. He came to my soccer games. He took us for ice cream, and to the movies, and out to dinner. He ordered pizza and watched TV with us. I hated him for so long...but sometimes...sometimes I miss him so much,” Sam’s voice broke. “I _hated_ him, Ash. And now...now I think, maybe I could have helped him. Maybe we’d understand each other.”  
  
“Did your Dad ever lie on Freud’s leather couch?”  
  
“Well...no. He’d...he had some literature. And he’d quit buying booze. And—”  
  
“And it takes more than that, kid. You know it. It doesn’t stick if you don’t dive into the deep shit.”  
  
“I just...I wish I could tell him I get it now.”  
  
“Aw, hell, bro.” Ash ground out his cigarette. “There’s all sorts of shit I’d like to lay on my old man. And it sucks, but they’re not us. You’re not gonna fall just because he did.”  
  
“But—”  
  
The electronic rendition of _Born a Ramblin’ Man_ rang out of Ash’s hip. Ash flashed him the “one minute” finger and answered. “Talk to me. Dr. Al! yeah, I’m home, I’m—” his face dropped. “Oh, shit. Where—” he looked at Sam and carefully composed himself. “Okay. Sure. Yeah, yeah I’ll tell them. Thanks for the call, doc. Keep me posted.” He hit end.  
  
“Everything alright?”  
  
“Ruby OD'ed.”  
  
Sam’s chest constricted. “What?”  
  
“She’s alive—in intensive care. Lily found her.”  
  
“What’d she take?”  
  
“Some cocktail. They don’t know yet.”  
  
“Ash...she told me this afternoon that she was still using. That she never stopped.”  
  
“Well _yeah_ , bro. We all knew that.”  
  
“You did?”  
  
“You didn’t?”  
  
“But...she came to meetings and stuff.”  
  
“Well, she passed her urinalysis every week. We figured someone was bringing her clean piss, but Alan couldn’t exactly kick her out on a hunch, they were trying to trap her other ways.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Trade secret.” Ash winked. “Look...it’s way past your usual turn-in time. You need to get some sleep. I’m not trying to mother-hen you, but you’ve heard the speeches about the importance of sleep when dealing with everything. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”  
  
Sam just nodded and got to his feet. He performed his nightly rituals like a robot, like an automaton, like an avatar of the brilliant, promising young man on his way to law school.  
  
He could do this. He could lie down and relax and not think about Ruby. Or relapse. Or Crowley. Or Jess and Dad and Maddy and Cas and Dean and Cas and Dean and Cas and DeanDeanDeanDean...  
  


***

  
Dean was a gifted man. It was technology that was stupid.  
  
Like the fact that if he hit the “All On” button the remote, Cas had to reset their DVD player, cable box, and speakers. Which was _so_ not his problem. If his dumbass doctor wanted to bring a remote control in the house with a giant red button that said “All on/off” and then tell him not to press it, that only proved what Dean knew: electronics were stupid, not him.  
  
Dean was trying to find _America’s Most Wanted_ —and _why_ weren’t they making remote controls with pop-out keyboards like his damn phone did?—and kept landing on various episodes of _The Real Bitches From Hell_ from cities all over the country and didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. “Yeah, what?” he barked.  
  
“Dean?” fast, harsh breathing—Sammy in a panic attack.  
  
“Hey,” Dean murmured, snapping off the TV—without hitting _All Off_ , thank you—and heading out to the porch. “Thought it was Bedtime for Bonzo, buddy. What’s going on?”  
  
“Ruby overdosed.”  
  
Ruby. The dumb bitch Dean had hated from the second he’d eyed her. She’d dealt drugs—Sammy had never dealt drugs. She’d given attitude in groups. She’d rolled her eyes every time Dean asked Sam if he needed anything. She was just a dumb bitch and Dean didn’t care who knew it.  
  
 _But_ , she was also Sammy’s friend. And Dean never did hold up well when Sammy needed something.  
  
“Is she okay?” he swung himself up on the porch railing and looked out over their small front yard. He liked to talk to his brother on the porch—it reminded him of the hours they spent outdoors, watching storms and stars and silently relaxing, feeling a peace that never came inside their father’s house.  
  
“She’s in the hospital. I—Dean, she told he me she was still using. She told me. And I...I didn’t...I didn’t do anything about it.”  
  
“What _could_ you have? You can’t make her sign in. You know that. She’s got to—”  
  
“What if I can’t stay clean?”  
  
Dean’s heart sank. It was his own worst fear. Dean was no dummy: he knew there were moments Sam longed to ease his crippling anxiety, guilt, and depression. He couldn’t fault him: he missed his own liquid courage often enough.  
  
“You said Ruby never stopped using. So she’s never seen what it’s like on the other side.”  
  
“It’s not _that_ , Dean, it’s—it’s—she said—she said there’s no getting out. That I’ll go down again. Dad did. Dad went down, over and over—”  
  
“You’re not Dad.”  
  
“—no matter how much he didn’t want to, I think he tried, Dean, when I look back, he did try, he stayed sober, or he didn’t come home if he’d had too much or he locked himself in his room and—and—what if I can’t—”  
  
“Sammy, you _can_. You’re _clean_. You’re surrounded by safeguards to _keep_ you clean.”  
  
“I’m not right, Dean,” he sobbed. “I had a scholarship to law school. And now I can’t...I can’t even work the cash register on a Saturday.”  
  
Dean closed his eyes. These were the worst moments for him—the ones where he just wanted to ride to the rescue, have his brother by his side, keep him against him where he could be sure he was safe. Missouri, Cas, Alan, and everyone else had pointed out that part of this problem all along was that they had no coping mechanisms outside of one another, which meant if one wasn’t well, the other went down just as hard and fast.  
  
“If you relapse, you know what happens? You go back to Rosemount. They lock you down. And when you’re clean, Cas and me come. And we sit with you, and we go to therapy, and we bring you dinner, and we work your meds, and we find you a safe home, and we do it as many times as we have to until it sticks for good, you understand me? Because I won’t accept anything less than you sober, and if it takes five, ten, fifteen, a hundred rounds to get there, then we get back up and do it until we get there.”  
  
Sam’s breathing slowed. “Thanks Dean,” he whimpered. Dean _hated_ that sound.  
  
“S’okay,” he soothed. “It’s okay, Sammy. You’re doing great. I’m proud of you. I’m proud you’re my brother.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Dean, I—”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“You shouldn’t—”  
  
“The hell I won’t.” Sam burst out laughing. Dean smiled into the receiver. “You’re that easy, bitch.”  
  
“You’re the world’s _biggest_ jerk.”  
  
Dean may struggle with call waiting and speaker phone and conference calls and remote controls and cable, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to attach things to an email. He tended to act without thinking long-term, and he’d tossed his partner into the ditch for daring to question a decision that clearly had impacted his life. He could be short tempered and foul-mouthed and co-dependent and God knows he would fight the urge to take a drink for the rest of his life.  
  
But there was one thing he was awesome at, and that was being Sam’s big brother. When the world broke down on him, that was what he’d clung to—it was _Sam_ he clung to. And once he did, none of his own shortcomings seemed to matter anyway, and he wondered how he’d ever let them. 

***

  
Cas thanked the nurse as he handed over a request for tests and a few prescription adjustments. It had been an uneventful shift—even a good one. Patients he had left for the weekend were generally glad to see him, as well as some of the other staff.  
He hadn’t recognized half of them. He hadn’t thought to tell anyone but Dean when he left.  
  
Peter had never crossed his mind. The thought that McCloud might have parents, brothers, sisters, friends, had never crossed his mind. That McCloud particular brand of... _philanthropy_ might affect others had certainly never crossed his mind. And yet, his friend was right: this wasn’t just about him and Sam and Dean.   
  
“Cas.” He started as a friendly voice sounded behind him. Anna was there, smiling warmly. “Did you have a nice weekend?”  
  
“It was...productive.”  
  
“I’m glad. You were missed.” Anna made a few notes on a clipboard and handed it over to the on duty nurse with warm thanks. “So. Everything alright?”  
  
“Very good, thank you. My brother Gabriel...he needed me. But he’s well now.” Cas had never been a good liar. But Anna just smiled.  
  
“Good. I wish I had siblings. Or family nearby.”  
  
“I can’t remember you taking vacation.”  
  
“I haven’t in quite a long time.” Anna looked serious once more. “Sometimes...going home doesn’t feel like a vacation. And yet...going on vacation alone seems like work in itself.”  
  
“You could...rest at home.”  
  
“I’ve never done ‘rest’ well.” She managed a small smile. “It’s...good to have you back. As I said. You were missed.”  
  
Anna started down the hall. Cas felt his own spike of anxiety: he didn’t know what was right, what was professional, what was in line with etiquette, what right he had to—  
  
 _If Sam can face withdrawl and Dean can face a monster in alley, you can risk a social faux-pas bro_ , Gabe’s voice suddenly rang in his head, and got him moving.  
  
“Anna,” he called, jogging after her. “Listen...Dean and I, we’re having friends over for dinner tomorrow night. Bobby and Ellen and Sam and Andy—people from our Superbowl party. Would you like to join us?”  
  
Anna’s eyes widened. Cas’ stomach sank. “I...” her voice cracked.“That...that would be very nice.”  
  
“We were planning on 7:30.”  
  
“I...I have a meeting. But—I’ll cancel. Can I bring anything?”  
  
“Your fruit tray was deeply appreciated by myself and Sam. Dean...not so much. And since Ellen has dessert covered—”  
  
“I’ll bring the good carbs.” Anna blushed a bit. “Thank you, Cas. I...I’ll be on time.”  
  
“You can be late.” He smiled, hoping it was as warm as he wished. “We don’t mind.”  
  
If Cas was going to be a true friend, a true brother, a true _partner,_ he needed to push. He needed to stretch the limits of his comfort zone. Sure, he and Dean had been as passionate as they’d been in the beginning, this morning, but that didn’t erase the wake of destruction left by McCloud, or the fact that Cas had spent his life struggling to understand the emotional needs of those around him. If he was going to make it, going to truly join the Winchester family in their habit of patching together emotional strays and loving them as their own, he had to start facing down the emotional and psychological challenges they fought and conquered.  
He was ready.

***

  
Sam couldn’t sleep. Either the valium wasn’t strong enough to combat his nerves after the past few days, or he’d adjusted to it. Alan and Missouri had warned him he’d build a tolerance, but Sam didn’t want to up his dose. He wanted to be off meds all together. As a kid, drugs usually meant Dean shoplifting, and so Sam had learned to hide his aches and pains and fevers and soldier on without any extra boosts so he wouldn’t sully his brother’s criminal record.  
  
Considering what he was coming _off_ of, a little mood stabilizer/anxiety suppressor shouldn’t be much of anything. But Sam still resented those little orange bottles.  
  
He wanted to talk to Dean. Again. Wanted to be sure he and Cas were okay—body and soul. Wanted to be sure they were on the mend and Cas wasn’t going to abandon them for the east. Wanted to be sure they were healthy and their smoke alarms had fresh batteries and they’d locked their windows and doors. Wanted to be sure the car engines were safe and their carbon-monoxide detector was running. He knew it was compulsive-obsessive (because Sam did NOT have OCD, thank you) but he needed them to be safe. He needed to never have to hear about another loss for as long as he lived.  
  
Of course…he’d _told_ Cas that it would be alright if he pushed him away from Dean a bit. And he’d meant it. But now, in the dark of his small rented room of Ash’s halfway house, he regretted it. He hadn’t had limitations on talking to his brother since he’d left Rosemount, and he’d come to rely heavily on Dean’s constant availability.  
  
Too heavily.  
  
Sam absently traced the scars on his left wrist. One. Two. Three. Jess, Dad, Maddy. College, Addiction, Rosemount. Michael, Crowley, Ruby.  
  
Dean, Cas, Sam.  
  
 _Shit_.  
  
Sam shot upright, gasping, heart racing, trying to walk himself through the deep breathing Cas had taught him, the focusing exercises he’d learned in groups and with Missouri. It was no use. This is how he felt after losing Jess and Dad, after leaving school. He couldn’t think, couldn’t calm down, couldn’t bear a life of constant grief and anxiety. Missouri had helped him understand what drugs had helped him do: fill the voids of lost confidence and faith he’d had when he arrived at college. When he’d met Jess. When lawschool and children and a life of peace for himself and his brother was _right there_.  
  
She’d said other things, things Ruby had addressed at, all places, their Superbowl party: that sometimes, Dean’s protective nature had smothered him. But that was in his days of being happy, being _healthy_. And in his days of addiction, striving to prove that he could go back to being who he was before people started dying around him. Trying to prove that he wasn’t scared. Trying to prove to Dean that he wasn’t a scrawny, shy, geeky pre-teen who hid behind his brother when their Dad yelled, or crawled into bed with him when he’d had a bad dream, or was afraid the blows Dean had taken would cause him to abandon Sam in the night.  
  
It was second nature to retreat to Dean in times of uncertainty and distress. But it wasn’t fair to Dean _or_ Cas, to retreat to them every single time his anxiety spiked. Dean had made a valiant effort to re-trust his brother after everything Sam had done, and Sam hadn’t reciprocated by trusting Dean and Cas to take care of themselves—and one another—in his absence.  
  
Sam rocked himself, feeling sick, wanting to cry with the weight of fear and guilt and the rush of his heartbeat. He really, really, really, didn’t want to be alone right now. He really, really, really, wanted Dean and Cas to have the night to themselves.  
  
He dialed without thinking.  
  
“Heyo!” Andy answered. “Sam, you’re usually out by now, buddy. Everything cool?”  
  
Andy—housed in his van, spooning his old bong, coasting by and who knows what money—was still the group’s fussy Grandmother at heart. He knew all his friend’s schedules, habits, meds, and official diagnosis. And he’d read the DSM—cover to cover. And God knows why, but he made a special effort to befriend Sam.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just...” Sam didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t want to sit with all this on his own.  
  
“Gotta tell you, man—hope you’re not interested in an Oscar. You couldn’t fake a cold while you had the flu.” Sam smiled. “Listen, I just dropped Tracy off at hers. I’m five away. You want me to swing by?”  
  
“Curfew—”  
  
“Dude, me and Ash are cool. You won’t get in trouble. Is he awake?”  
  
“I didn’t check. I—I’m trying to...give Dean and Cas space.”  
  
“Gotcha. T-minus four minutes, okay? You good until then? I can stay on the line.”  
  
“No. No, you shouldn’t drive and talk.”  
  
“Then you be at the door. In one giant, unharmed, _sober_ piece. Alright?”  
  
“Thanks. Thanks, man.”  
  
“No worries. Me and the Polar Princess are riding to the rescue.”  
  
Sam pulled on socks, but didn’t bother sliding out of his sweats. Andy had seen him at his sickest, sweatiest, smelliest, and weakest at Rosemount: he didn’t need to hide behind real clothes.  
  
Andy was screeching up on the curb and bounding up the stairs faster than he could remember him ever doing before.  
  
“Hey,” he said, wrapping Sam in a hug. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, man. We’ve come _way_ too far not to have it be okay.”  
  
And goddamnit, with all the after-effects of recovery, he hated that one was looking kindness in the face and breaking down.  
  


***

  
Cas had crawled into bed around one in the morning and fitted himself close to Dean. Dean had woken up enough to shoot a “C ssfe” text to Sam before dropping back into oblivion. He woke warm and rested, _deeply_ rested, for the first time since Sam had run like a bat out of hell out of KGB’s burger joint. He could feel Cas at his back, breathing even and steady, soft rolls of muscle nudging his spine when he inhaled. Cas’ fingers traced over his back and shoulder. Dean grumbled and tried to burrow into the pillow.  
  
“Dean...I want you to tell me what happened in the alley.”  
  
“Leave off,” Dean grumbled.  
  
“Please.”  
  
 _I did what I had to and you tucked tail and ran. I don’t even know why you came back. I don’t want to question it. I don’t want_ you _to._  
  
As if hearing his thoughts, Cas’ hand stilled, a firm palm on his back. “I’m not leaving again. No matter what you tell me. I know more, now, about what that man did, than I understood before I left. I thought it was just Sam he’d used. And Sam was willing. So I didn’t see why—”  
  
“Sam was _not_ willing. Sam was sick and starving. And Sam fought that SOB when he went for his pants.”  
  
“I know,” Cas placated. “I know. But, Dean...how did you find him? Did he see you? Know you?”  
  
Dean stared at the sun hitting the dark blue carpet on the floor of their room. It’d been one of the few colors he’d agreed on. Growing up, everything had been beige. For Cas, everything had been full of explosions of intense reds and purples and yellows and greens—the latest “must-haves” for the season. He’d longed for neutrals. Dean _hated_ neutrals.  
  
“I started at the bar. Said he dropped his phone and I wanted to give it back. They’d seen us sitting there. Sonofabitch had his card on file, so after I got a few beers into Carly the bartender, she conveniently ‘forgot’ I had the phone and gave me his cell. I got the GPS activated and caught the sonofabitch getting blown by some fifteen year old in an alley.”  
  
“Did he say anything?”  
  
“I told the kid to get the hell out of there.”  
  
“Not the kid. McCloud.”  
  
Dean’s entire body tensed. It didn’t matter how much time passed: he didn’t believe he’d _ever_ not want to scream, cry, or kill when he thought of it. Thought of Sammy—smart, sweet, innocent little Sammy—on his knees for smack. Sick and starving and calling the garage just to hear Dean’s stupid voice. Giving in to everything Dean had battled to save him from. Being forced to stand in the doorway of the bus ride that would leave him ten blocks from Rosemount, all so the driver could eye him. Make sure he wasn’t going to hold up the bus or charge a passenger or something.  
  
How could anyone—think—about— _Sam_ —  
  
Dean didn’t think he’d said it out loud. But Cas’ arm was suddenly around him, and his chest was pressed fast against his back, and cheek was resting on Dean’s head, and he was whispering “it’s alright now. You saved him. Please...tell me.”  


***

  
McCloud seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the services rendered. Dean was rage embodied: all he could see was Sam, stumbling toward him, a sweaty, smelly, sobbing mess in Rosemount’s waiting room: Sam, pleading with him not to be mad, not to abandon him: Sam, the little kid with dark floppy hair and big sweet eyes, who’d cuddle against his side and sleep easy, no matter what, outside or inside, was hurting him.  
  
Dean could have slugged him in the pub on principal. It was only the desperate efforts of Cas and Peter Balthazzar that kept him from doing so. The second Sam had swung himself half into Dean, the elder Winchester had known something was terribly wrong. Forget big brother instinct: Dean knew people. And he’d known McCloud was a slimy piece of scum from the second he’d slithered up. He’d attempted to tolerate him because, for whatever reason, Cas had an attachment to Peter Balthazzar. And, though he loved his bright-eyed, serious-minded boyfriend, he sometimes felt he was guiding an emotional child.  
  
And then...well. His emotional child had vanished and his broken, degraded brother had surfaced, and Dean hadn’t known where or what he was but an underqualified life preserver.  
  
He’d underestimated both Cas and Sam. And, like everyone one day did, they’d run from him.  
  
Dean had never learned how to run.  
  
So there he was: facing down McCloud—Sam’s ‘Crowley’—full of rage and hurt and the crippling guilt of failure.  
“You here about your little ‘Sammy?’” the man had mocked, not even bothering to zip his pants. Like Dean wasn’t worth his modesty.  
“I know what you really are,” Dean growled.  
  
“An entrepreneur. A do-gooder. The salvation of many rotting souls on these indifferent streets.”  
  
“You’re a dealer, a rapist, and a dirty rotten sonofabitch.”  
  
McCloud cocked his eyebrow. “I always thought your moose might have a big mouth. Theoretically, of course. You wouldn’t believe just how small and tight it could be with the right persuasion.”  
  
Dean launched himself forward and slammed the smaller man into the wall, elbow pressed against his throat.  
  
“I’m gonna kill you,” he hissed.   
  
“You’re Papa Bear now, is that it? You sure it’s me you’re mad at? After all, mate. I was the one sustaining him while you were encouraging your doctor to examine your naughty bits.”  
  
Dean threw his first punch. It snapped the man’s head to the side, but Dean wouldn’t let him fall. McCloud gasped, and, for the first time, Dean saw fear in his face, in his eyes.  
  
He loved it. He wanted more of it. He wanted him to feel every bit of what Sam had: right down to the moment he collapsed in a sweaty, snotty, sobbing mess of withdrawal.  
  
“I’ll have you imprisoned for life,” the Scot growled, spitting blood. “You’ll never see your either of your little come-buckets again.”  
“See, that’s not gonna happen,” Dean murmured, keeping his voice a steady, calm, assured tone. “I’m gonna grind you into the ground and when they find you, the jig’ll be up. And it’ll be _your_ ass they’ll want behind those bars. “  
  
“I’ll never see jail.”  
  
“You’ll _only_ see jail.” McCloud’s eyes were widening further. “And if you out me, I guarantee my brother will turn over pitch perfect testimony in seconds.”  
  
“Alright.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. Quarter million will do ya?”  
  
Dean slugged him again. “You’re not gonna buy my brother from me.”  
  
“I already did.” He heaved in a pained breath. “And that filthy animal wasn’t worth the cost of the baggie he snorted from.”  
  
Dean threw him to the ground and slammed his foot into his ribs, satisfied with the sound of their cracking.  
  
“Okay,” gasped, spitting blood. “Okay. Half a million. I’ll go up to the fully monty. Just—”  
  
Dean slammed his knee into the man’s stomach. “Sorry, ‘Crowley.’ I’m the one thing that can’t be bought.”  
  
Dean would love to say that he attacked with calm, thorough, planned assurance. But he didn’t. He went at the sonofabitch like there was nothing to live for. He poured the rage at his father for hurting them, Sam for hurting himself, Cas for fearing his outbursts, and his own failure, into the blows he fed into that asshole. He hadn’t regretted a single one.  
  
He didn’t, to this day. No matter what the cost, he knew, in the darkness of that damnable night, he’d been the first to ever beat that sonofabtich. And that, at least, he owed the brother he loved. The partner he was willing to sacrifice _for_ that love. And for all the many, many, underprivileged souls who’d never see the justice of dawn.

***

  
Cas was a warm, shaking mess against Dean’s back. Dean didn’t want to feel his disappointment. His horror. His rage.  
Sometimes, he wished he couldn’t feel a thing.  
  
“That... _monster_ ,” Cas’ voice broke. “Dean. I’m...sorry.”  
  
“Shove it,” Dean mumbled.  
  
“No. Dean...Sam—”  
  
“Just _stop_ , Cas.”  
  
“I didn’t realize—”  
  
“I said SHUTUP.”  
  
“Thank you for loving me.”  
  
Dean felt like he’d been slugged. “God, Cas…”  
  
“You don’t have to handle this alone,” Cas pleaded. “Dean...I love him too. I won’t leave again. I mean it. I get it now. I’m...I’m in it with you now.”  
  
“Christ,” Dean snapped. So what if his snap sounded like a sob? So what if Cas’s arms tightened? He was Dean Winchester, and little comforts didn’t matter. Promises from others didn’t mean a thing.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” Cas murmured. “You’re not alone. I love you, Dean.”  
  
And that? That was just the sort of thing Dean didn’t care about. Not a bit. He’d lived his whole life without it. Sam had lived huge stretches without it. He didn’t care for Cas’ smell. He didn’t care for Cas’ warmth. He didn’t need it.  
  
He didn’t.  
  
He did.  
  
Cas’ lips met his bare shoulder. “I’m sorry. I promise...this round, there’s no going back. We’ll do what we have to, and we’ll live with it. We _will_ , Dean. We three.”  
  
Dean’s boyfriend was dumb and dramatic and dorky, and Dean’s brother was nerdy and loyal and struggling, and Dean just wanted the three of them to freeze in a place of understanding: one little, solid, steadfast trinity, forever and ever.  
  
Amen.


End file.
